


treasure hunter, you are dead

by bastards



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Study, Dream becomes a god and a monster, Found Family, Gen, Pre-L'manberg Revolution, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28690254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastards/pseuds/bastards
Summary: He just wants everyone to be one big happy family.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	treasure hunter, you are dead

**Author's Note:**

> title from pearl diver by mitski.
> 
> cw for temporary character death & mentions of blood/bones/mild body horror

_Oh, hunter, if you didn't want the beautiful so badly_

_Perhaps you would've found it in your spirit singing softly_

_But hunter, you were human_

_Don't forget it and go safely_

\- Pearl Diver, Mitski

\---

He dies. That’s how the story starts, you know. He is born, he lives, and he dies. 

His life was short. He was a wanderer, aimless, travelling the world not for a purpose, but rather, the lack of it. The people he meets are nameless and faceless and far removed from him. He ends up face-down in a forest, cold and exhausted and so, so alone. He dies.

Loveless. The world did not care for him.

He is dead.

Whatever inglorious gods that may exist take no pity on him, a blemish upon their universe. The heavens shatter open and rain pours on his body, and everything is wet, wet, _wet_. He drowns in it.

He sinks into the ground. The floor is black. The ceiling is black. The walls are black. There is no floor, there is no ceiling, there are no walls, and Dream can no longer tell where he is, darkness pressing against him on all sides. Dream can no longer tell what he is. He is broken apart, remade, by hands he cannot see.

And he feels at home for the first time in his life.

He does not die.

\---

The world is made, but Dream does not remember making it. He doesn’t remember much of anything, really, but sometimes he looks down at his fingers, long and nimble and scarred with marks he does not recall, and he swears he can feel dark, damp earth between them.

He is eternally detached from his people below. He knows that, knows that it cannot be changed, that they will always be far from what he is. He is allowed to live for as long as he pleases, but their mortality is fleeting, restricted to just three mistakes. And then they cannot make mistakes any longer. He does not remember what it means to be… human anymore. He does not bleed red. His bones shift, reforming themselves, and they are not bones any longer.

Sometimes he lies awake at night and can feel his body twisting and shrieking. And he can feel a little bit more of what it is that makes them _them_ slip away from him. But when he stumbles across the room and properly looks at himself, nothing has changed. He has no need for sleep anyway.

He doesn’t remember much. But sometimes he looks at George, yelling and running away from Sapnap, waving a sword haphazardly, eyes alight with fire and mischief. And he looks at Ponk and Callahan and Alyssa in a secluded valley between two mountains, slowly but surely building a home, one brick at a time. And he looks at Antfrost and Bad, who are both on a mission to tame every single cat on the server. And warmth blossoms within Dream’s shuddering, violent body, slow and syrupy. He thinks he may be relearning something that had long been lost to him.

(Or perhaps he’s learning. Perhaps he had never known in the first place.)

And with that lovely thing that blooms in his ribs, he can see the entire world coming alive with it. 

One night, stars brighter than they’ve ever been before, he returns home. There’s a chest waiting for him, and within it lies an envelope. _From: Everyone_ is scrawled on the heavy parchment in looping letters, a crude smiley face drawn next to them. Dream can feel the corners of his mouth tilt up in return. He rips into the envelope eagerly, and what’s inside makes him cry for the first time that he can remember. And tears drip down under his mask and onto the soft earth below, and he vows he will never let go of his family. And he feels so incredibly safe, so incredibly at home. (And he learns how to be loved.)

He loves the universe, now, and the universe loves him in return.

So when the boy-king comes, Dream welcomes him, welcomes _all of them_ into his family. He ignores how the dirt he feels between his fingers becomes something slick and red and wet, wet, _wet_. He turns a blind eye to what they are, how they act. How he is already the king and there cannot be two kings in the same world. He wants to take care of them. Even when they start building the walls one stone at a time around their land. Even when they start cutting off the rest of his universe.

Then, they raise their flag, white blue and roaring crimson, and Dream can no longer ignore them. And he can not take care of them and they cannot be _happy_ if they are not part of the world he toiled over, formed carefully and oh so gentle. They cannot be part of his family.

And he cannot love them if he is hated in return.

He only remembers one thing of his parents. Before his mother left, she pressed a soft kiss to his hair. An empty husk, a pathetic attempt at atonement. And she whispered to him, “You do not belong in this world of mine. The universe is not kind to things like you.” And then she was gone, fleeting, and nothingness remained. And then he died, and then he became.

He understands his mother, now. _They_ do not belong in this world of his, a blemish upon his lovely, absolute domain. And he cannot allow them to break apart something he crafted so meticulously, because it is so beautiful and they are not.

He feels the last of what makes them _them_ within him slip away. Perhaps if he still had it, he would be more kind. He would find something soft and forgiving, _be_ something soft and forgiving. But that is not how the story goes. He allows himself to hurt. He allows himself the grace to shatter apart what they have built, remake it with his own hands, because they are stained. They are imperfect.

He just wants everyone to be one big happy family. 

So he becomes a monster. And he drowns in it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed :]
> 
> i know in the context of what we know about dsmp!dream, this isn't the most accurate characterization, but i just really wanted to write something dream-centric so !!!! here it is. i really adore the idea of dream with the best intentions but just . so far removed from his humanity LOL
> 
> twitter @ [oyakudon](https://twitter.com/oyakudon)


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